


All Too Short A Season

by thrace



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrace/pseuds/thrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aslaug comes to Hedeby at midsummer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Too Short A Season

Aslaug comes to Hedeby at midsummer. She has Ivar and Sigurd with her, but not Ubbe or Hvitserk. “They wanted to stay with Ragnar, and they are old enough to choose,” Aslaug explains, even though Lagertha did not ask. After all, Bjorn remains with his father also.

Lagertha does ask why Aslaug left Kattegat in the first place. Aslaug holds Ivar to her breast, cradling him tightly. “Ragnar’s sadness was like rain filling a bucket until it overflowed. We cannot hold any more sadness inside of us, he and I. We must wait for the rain to stop.”

Lagertha understands sadness. She understands it very well, after Gyda, so Aslaug goes into one of the bigger bedrooms down the hall and in the morning she joins the women at their looms and Lagertha swiftly ends all inquiries into why Aslaug is there. 

*

She does not realize how much she misses babies until Sigurd wakes up one morning with a mild fever. They are both too experienced to fret much over a typical childhood illness, but still Lagertha does not sleep well until the fever breaks. She sits with Aslaug early in the morning, watching her stroke Sigurd’s small forehead with her cool hand. “He will regain his strength quickly,” says Lagertha, reassuring Aslaug as much as herself. Then she takes herself off for a walk, enjoying the cool morning air and trying not to think too hard of Bjorn. When she returns she has a cup of goat’s milk and a bowl of porridge for Aslaug.

“You have been very kind to us,” says Aslaug cautiously, though any jealousy between them has long passed. It is one thing to see Lagertha when she vists Kattegat; it is another to live under her husband’s ex-wife’s roof and see her every day.

“It is not within me to turn my hand against a woman seeking solace from her husband,” says Lagertha matter-of-factly. Then she and Aslaug exchange glances and they understand each other perfectly. 

*

As much out of boredom as gratitude, Aslaug sews her a fine dress, dyed the same blue of her shield. She has Lagertha put it on so she can see the fit. Lagertha stands patiently as Aslaug circles her, making approving noises. “Is this dress for you or for me?” Lagertha asks, mouth quirking up at one corner to give away her amusement.

“There is nothing wrong with taking pride in good work,” Aslaug says, and makes Lagertha walk up and down the room. Finally she is satisfied and they both sit in the great hall, watching Sigurd and Ivar play on a thick pile of furs. One of the cats weaves its way through the boys, back and forth, and Ivar giggles. 

“It is good to hear him laugh,” says Aslaug. 

Lagertha glances up from the apple she is slicing. But for his legs, Ivar is a strong and healthy baby. “It is good to see his mother smile,” she says, pushing half the slices towards Aslaug. 

Aslaug looks down at the fruit, strangely shy. “I am beginning to feel happiness in my heart again. Remembering life should not always be so hard.”

“That is good,” says Lagertha. “Ragnar is probably missing you.” She cannot figure out why she is so apprehensive of Aslaug’s reply.

“He will miss me a while longer. I want to be sure his regrets have run dry.”

Without realizing it, Lagertha unclenches her fist from around her knife.

*

A few foreign tribes to the south come raiding over Hedeby’s borders and Lagertha obliges them with a fierce and immediate defense. It is her first real test on home soil and a good opportunity to solidify her people’s confidence in her. There is no waiting between messenger and departure—within hours she has gathered fifty warriors, mostly on foot, and is giving her final instructions on defending the village should it come to that. 

Aslaug is waiting for her by the door of the great hall. She brushes her hand against Lagertha’s arm, but remains silent.

“All will be fine,” says Lagertha. “But perhaps now is a good time to go back to Kattegat.”

“I will see you upon your return,” Aslaug says firmly.

Lagertha takes the raiders from the high ground, firing arrows and spears down upon them to soften them for the charge. The raiders are organized, but she is more so. The fighting is quick and efficient. Her blood is up and she roars war cries to the blue summer sky until she feels a burr in her throat. By then most of the raiders are dead. She does not want a total slaughter, but just enough survivors to carry the story of how ready Hedeby is to repulse invasion. She cannot have anything interfering with their preparations for winter.

They are almost a day’s march away from the village and everyone is exhausted, so she orders them to make camp overnight. She lies on the dark flickering edge of one of the fires, listening to the watch patrol around camp, and looks forward to returning home the way she used to when she was a young shieldmaiden, bright and victorious from a raid.

They file back into the village just before sunset, greeted by milling crowds of happy families. They took almost no losses; three dead and a handful of wounded are the reward for Lagertha’s careful tactics. She goes directly to the great hall, wanting to put down her sword and shield and have a bath and a large meal. 

Aslaug is in the doorway again, as though she never left the spot while Lagertha was gone. “Come,” she says, holding out a hand. “I have prepared a bath for you.”

*

It is as though Aslaug knew the time of Lagertha’s return to the minute; the bath water is hot, poured fresh from the fire. Aslaug has added flowers and herbs and the room is fragrant. She brushes lightly against the bells over the tub and their soft chiming sounds like little laughs to Lagertha’s battle-worn ears. 

Lagertha strips out of her mail, her leather girdle, her tunic and boots and pants. She is pale underneath them and there are stark lines of contrast between her still bloodied hands and face with dirt rubbed deep in the creases and the smooth, unmarked skin of her body. She slips into the tub and immediately sinks down under the water, letting the warmth shroud her whole. When she emerges, Aslaug is still there, watching her. “I hope you did not worry,” says Lagertha, reaching for a rag.

Aslaug plucks it right from her hand. “I saw that you would be victorious,” she replies. The rag is soaked, then massaged into Lagertha’s exposed neck and shoulders. It feels divine.

“So the gods favor me?”

The rag scrubs at Lagertha’s hair, the rivulets of blood that have crusted into her braids. “I cannot say. I only see what is, not why.”

“Hm.” Lagertha lets herself be silent then, enjoying the feeling of someone else taking care of her. She has taken none of the servants into her confidence yet, not like she had Siggy. She has been lonely in Hedeby without Bjorn.

Aslaug scrubs down her back, along her arms. Then she kneels by the side of the tub and gentles her touch to wipe Lagertha’s face. She traces from brow to cheek, down to jaw and throat; Lagertha keeps her eyes closed obediently. “Thank you,” she says when she feels Aslaug withdraw. The water is murky now and Lagertha feels renewed. 

“It is what you deserve. When a warrior defends her home, they should be grateful. It is the same I would do for Ragnar,” says Aslaug.

Lagertha almost bristles without knowing why. “I am not Ragnar.”

Aslaug looks away, at the floor. “I know.”

When Lagertha stands, water cascading off her body, she feels Aslaug shift her gaze back. She stands there, not bothering to wrap herself in her robe. “I’m not Ragnar,” she repeats, while Aslaug shuffles closer behind her.

“No,” Aslaug agrees, breathing down on the back of Lagertha’s damp neck. “And that is good, because I came to Hedeby to be away from Ragnar.”

“Is that the only reason you came to Hedeby?” Lagertha asks, unmoving. 

“I could have returned to Götaland. But this was the better choice.” 

Lagertha does not know if Aslaug means because they have both been hurt by Ragnar, or have both known sadness over their children, or something else entirely, but at this moment she finds she doesn’t care. She just extends her hand behind her back, and waits for Aslaug to take it. When their fingers are intertwined neatly, she leads Aslaug to her bed.

*

Lagertha, who has never taken a woman into her bed, has nevertheless been thinking of Aslaug for weeks. She is small and compact where Aslaug is tall, willowy. She has always been proud of her body but it is not a matter of envy, but of _coveting_ Aslaug. She sees a slender throat, soft curving waist, delicate hands, and she wants. She wants Aslaug and Aslaug is rubbing her thumb in circles against Lagertha’s hand so she decides to take.

She is naked and Aslaug is clothed but it is she who is in control. She sinks her fingers into the front of Aslaug’s dress, tugs her close. She pulls Aslaug’s mouth down onto hers, those lips so plump and ripe that Lagertha had dreamed of them and woken up confused and frustrated. She is bold with her tongue, and Aslaug makes a whimpering sound. Her hands, still warm from bathwater, trail up Lagertha’s back. Her palms glide over Lagertha’s shoulderblades, fingers gripping into the slope of her shoulders. Lagertha pulls her closer, and now they are flush against each other, mouths still connected.

It is not so different—she must still crane her neck slightly—and yet it is as different as night and day. Aslaug is soft, much more supple, belly still slightly rounded from carrying Ivar. Lagertha pulls her dress away with slow, deliberate movements. Aslaug sighs when Lagethera’s hands finally smooth down her bare arms, to her hips. Her dress pools at her feet and she pushes it aside with a foot. Lagertha looks down at Aslaug’s breasts, smaller than hers, curving up more along the bottom. She kisses down the top of one, then the other. She wants to take them into her mouth, to lick and bite, but Aslaug is still feeding Ivar and Lagertha remembers the soreness. 

Another kiss to the center of Aslaug’s chest and her chin is drawn back up so Aslaug can kiss her mouth again. She kisses almost desperately; Lagertha has grown accustomed to not being touched but Aslaug’s need is still fresh, not dulled by time. Lagertha feels her body rising to Aslaug’s fervor, the ache between her legs blooming until she can stand it no more. She twists and pushes, sending Aslaug to the mattress and then mounting her neatly. Her knees hold Aslaug’s hips in place, though Lagertha can feel them straining towards her. She hovers silently for a moment, watching the woman beneath her, the way her eyelids flutter and her mouth hangs open. 

Then Aslaug’s hands brush the insides of her thighs and slide up immediately to her breasts, squeezing them both. Lagertha arches into the touch, aching to bring Aslaug to completion. “Your hands,” says Aslaug. “Inside me.” A quick flash of memory of Aslaug’s retinue, the shieldmaidens and servants, and Lagertha smiles privately to herself.

She moves between Aslaug’s legs, spreading them wide, kneading her firm thighs and then lifting one up so that Aslaug’s leg is over her shoulder, hooked at the knee. Aslaug nods, so ready for her, so eager. Lagertha touches her and she is slick wet heat, taking in two, then three fingers. She feels amazing inside, clenching hotly around Lagertha while her hips buck. Lagertha pushes her back down, again and again, moving inside of her, exploring the strange and enticing feel of her. She pants in a rhythm to match Aslaug, heart thumping, arm flexing, eyes wild. She bends over to kiss Aslaug’s neck, hard possessive kisses, and doesn’t stop stroking into her. Aslaug’s pants take on a keening edge just as she pushes down onto Lagertha’s hand and stills, body quivering. It has hardly been minutes, such was her desire. Lagertha feels almost smug.

For her part, Aslaug sees the near smile on Lagertha’s face and twists her hips, dumping Lagertha onto her back. Her smile is open, wide. “Now,” she says, and without warning pushes Lagertha’s legs apart and licks into her. 

*

Aslaug curls up around her, disregarding the sheets. It is too warm for that inside, where there is hardly a breeze. Lagertha enjoys having the solid weight of another body pinning her down in bed again. 

“Are you hungry?” Aslaug asks, palm pressed flat to Lagertha’s stomach. It is hard, muscled all over. No child has been carried there for some time.

“I am quite full,” says Lagertha. She indulges herself and strokes Aslaug’s spine, tracing the notches from top to bottom. “You will be going soon.”

“I think so. Before it is truly cold.”

“That is wise.”

Aslaug continues to touch her stomach, idly following the curve of her ribs, the lines of her muscles. “Perhaps you could come to Kattegat for a visit. I am sure Bjorn would like to see you.”

“I am sure.” Lagertha closes her eyes, tired and wanting to sleep. “Let us talk about this tomorrow.”

Aslaug is still there when she wakes up at dawn. She would almost rather Aslaug were gone, leaving her the illusion that things are the same. But they are not.

*

Preparations for winter are going well and the borders are secure, so Lagertha decides a few weeks at Kattegat will not go amiss. She brings some gifts; a new knife for Bjorn, toys for the children, a necklace for Siggy. But mostly she rides slowly by Aslaug’s cart without looking at her. 

Ragnar is cautious with Aslaug but obviously delighted to see her as well as Ivar and Sigurd. Lagertha brushes off Ragnar’s thanks for looking after his wife and hugs Bjorn close. 

The weeks pass quickly in Kattegat and soon Lagertha is loading her horse with provisions, ready to ride out again. 

“In the spring, bring your ships. We will raid together,” says Ragnar.

“I will be in charge of one of the ships!” says Bjorn. He has the beginnings of a beard on his cheeks.

“Of course,” says Lagertha.

“I will look for you, when the seasons turn,” says Aslaug. She gives Lagertha a heavy fur cloak and lets her hand linger. “I have seen it will be a hard winter.”

“I do not doubt you,” says Lagertha, and turns her horse towards Hedeby. 

*

Lagertha broods through the winter. Her people say she is anxious to raid but she knows that there are whispers amongst the shieldmaidens closest to her. She does not mind because she knows it comes from a place of concern, and so long as they are content to leave it at whispers she allows it. Let them say she is lonely. As long as they see she is fit to lead, nothing else matters.

It is difficult, forcing herself to wait properly for spring. But as soon as it is warm enough and the waters are good for sailing, she loads her ships and makes for Kattegat. She has seventy warriors in three ships—a bit much, perhaps, considering they are returning to their old raiding grounds east, but she likes the idea of a strong entrance. She is not immune to pride. 

Someone spots them while they are still far off from Kattegat so there is a crowd waiting for them at the docks. At their head, Ragnar, Bjorn, and Aslaug, who smiles like the sun breaking through the clouds. 

“Well. I have come back,” says Lagertha, ostensibly to Ragnar but with an eye cast towards Aslaug. She had thought, while she sat in her great hall and watched her people huddle around the fire and tell stories, that she would come to Kattegat and be able to smile and she would feel fine. But she feels a hollow growing in her stomach, up through her chest, as though she is a foolish girl subsisting on sighs and dreams. 

That night at supper, Aslaug brings her a cup of mead and a roast goat haunch and shows off how Ivar has grown. “He is quite strong,” says Lagertha, watching Ivar grip her finger from his perch in Aslaug’s arms. 

“He has not been sick at all,” says Aslaug. “I think the gods have given him a strong constitution, to make up for…”

“Yes,” Lagertha agrees. “A strong heart can make up for much.” She did not intend it as a rebuke, but Aslaug blanches.

“Was it a very bad winter in Hedeby?” she asks.

Lagertha withdraws from Ivar. “As you foresaw.”

*

The raiding is good. Bjorn is tremendous and he has not yet achieved his prime. She embarrasses him in front of his friends when she pulls him down at their camp to hug him and smooth over his hair. “Bjorn Ironside,” she says, using the name bestowed upon him by his father that he pretends not to enjoy constantly. “Let us go home so we may tell all of Kattegat what a warrior you are.”

He loves her too much to squirm and endures her affection with good nature. “Ours is a good bloodline,” he says. 

“You have flattered me enough, my good son,” she says, releasing him and giving him a shove towards his comrades, who are waiting to toast him.

She and Ragnar sit opposite each other with the fire between them. He eats with good appetite; she picks at a rabbit leg. “What is it?” he asks her, always perceptive to her moods even if he cannot decipher them these days.

“Nothing. Good night,” she says. She does not like that her feelings are so evident to others so she resolves to cut them out of her heart.

*

She only intends to spend one night in Kattegat. Her warriors grumble a little, wanting some rest after a long sail and to trade and see friends, but she is adamant that they will leave at dawn.

She does not know who told Aslaug, but she finds Lagertha off to one side of the great hall, nursing a cup of strong mead and watching Bjorn and Ragnar talk seriously up on the dais. “I thought you would stay longer,” says Aslaug.

“I must return to my territories. My warriors want their families and their beds.” 

“Your family is here,” says Aslaug.

“You do not have to remind me,” says Lagertha sharply. She works the cup in her hands, feeling the sides worn smooth from years of handling. 

“It was not my intention to hurt you,” says Aslaug, so low that Lagertha barely hears it.

“I cannot fault your intentions,” Lagertha admits. “I was a fool. I did a foolish thing.”

“No, you are a woman with a heart,” says Aslaug. “Will you not stay longer?”

Lagertha looks into her drink, trying to buy time to think. In a dark hall, head clouded by drink, Aslaug standing so near, it is hard to be sensible. “I ride to Hedeby at dawn,” she says, finally feeling a glimmer of control returning.

“Then sleep well,” says Aslaug, lowering her eyes. 

If Lagertha imagines a shadow passing under her door that night, like someone pacing back and forth, she ignores it and leaves as planned.

*

It is summer again. The people were pleased with the successful raid east and there is a feeling of fat prosperity growing in the village. Lagertha has at least the broad satisfaction of keeping her territory in order. 

And then, one day, Aslaug is there.

“Does Ragnar know you are here?” Lagertha asks, holding out her arms to take Sigurd and balance him on her hip. 

Aslaug smiles very indulgently at both of them. “Yes.” 

Ivar sits up in the wagon, alert and watching everything unfolding around him. 

“Why—”

“Hedeby is very agreeable in the summer,” Aslaug interrupts smoothly. “And this way the ties between our two territories will remain strong.”

“Yes,” Lagertha says slowly, trying to understand what Aslaug is telling her. “I suppose I will have to go with you to Kattegat when you return before the cold months.”

“That is also very agreeable.” Aslaug picks up Ivar and they regard each other carefully, but with optimism, like two people who know subconsciously that they are in agreement without quite knowing why.

Lagertha breaks their little détente. “You should come inside and we can talk, she says. She lets her free hand brush against Aslaug’s and finds herself looking forward to the season.


End file.
